Cracks in the Wall
by BoredRavenvlaw620
Summary: Draco is plagued by a recurring dream. He's just trying to survive the Dark Lord's rule when he encounters Hermione Granger at her most vulnerable. But is she the only vulnerable one, or is Draco's mind hiding secrets unknown to even him? How will Hermione put cracks in the wall of the Pureblood Prince. One Shot, companion to Secret Life of Purebloods.


**AN: Here's another little one shot, continuing the story from _The_ _Secret Life of Purebloods_ , my first story. Also, check out _Stolen Moments,_ by Kyonomiko, which was inspired by _The Secret Life of Purebloods,_ and really brings everything full circle. **

**I just want to say thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed and favorited _Secret Life._ I was so touched by your thoughts on my work. I'm so glad to have been able to entertain you and hope you find equal enjoyment in this story as well. And a special THANK YOU to Kyonomiko for her support and encouragement!**

 **I of course own no part of Harry Potter as it is the property of J.K. Rowling and Co. It's her world, we're just writing in it!**

* * *

Cracks in the Wall

It sickened him. How could that mudblood be better than _him?_ How could _she_ master all the spells, charms and potions when she only knew about her magic since she was eleven? How?

And how could he be so drawn to her? That part bothered him the most. But there was something he was missing, some piece of the puzzle, just out of reach, but so close, so familiar. It drove him spare, but he couldn't let the façade crack, no, he could keep it together.

But the dream. It was a recurring dream he'd had since he was a child. It was so vivid, but so confusing at the same time.

His mother was always there in the dream, smiling down at him, leading him through a cacophony of colors, shapes and people, but only she was clear. Then the flowers, a field of yellow flowers with a small girl curly-haired girl standing in the center would appear. He felt pulled toward her, but he could never make out her face, and she never spoke directly to him. He'd heard her on occasion in the dream say, "I have a secret," but never anything more. Then the field was transformed into a swirl of wings and wind as the flowers turned into butterflies and whirled around him in a funnel of beauty and confusion. Then the scene would fade to gray leaving him even more confused and with a strange feeling of longing and hurt.

He remembered the first time he had the dream as a child. It left him so mystified he was afraid of the aura it left around him. His mother, of course, noticed immediately and questioned him. "It won't do to dwell on dreams, Draco." She told him with sadness to her countenance that even her years of training couldn't hide. It disturbed him so deeply that he never mentioned the dream again.

The dream was more intense after every sparring match with Granger. She would glare at him with those milk chocolate eyes and her temperamental hair would spark at the ends. Honestly, whose hair sparks? Perhaps shearing it off her head would drain her of her magic and he could finally get some peace. But no, the years go by and the aggressive interactions continue and the dreams come unbidden leaving behind a trail of anger and confusion.

* * *

He'd had another dream last night, more flowers, more butterflies, more confusion; but it beats the nightmares that have plagued him since this disgusting mark was forced on his arm and he was ordered to kill an old man. How could everything have gone so far out of control? When he was eleven it was just about purebloods being pure, and him asserting his place at the top of the political hierarchy, but now he's told they are to be the only ones left when the smoke clears. That seems like flawed logic if the wizards are going to rule over everything, there won't be enough of them to populate Britain, let alone the world. The deeper into this debacle he's thrown the more he questions, _why?_

His attention was drawn to the commotion in the drawing room. More snatchers, _fabulous,_ that's always a _special_ treat. In the middle of the flurry is Auntie Bella, again, _fabulous._ She may be family, but she's a few ingredients short of a potion. His father looks on the new guests as well, and these days, he's not much better than Bellatrix.

As he's called forth to identify one of the captives he's shocked to see Weasley and… _Granger._ Of course, Gryffindor's Golden girl and the Weasel King had to get themselves caught, but who is this disfigured creature with them? It's surely Potter, but maybe not, and he doesn't fancy the thought of getting Curcioed, _again._ He tells them that he's not sure, but when Bellatrix's attention is drawn to a snatcher holding a sword no one really pays attention to what he's saying anymore. He's thankful for that, but, _oh what fresh hell is this?_ Bellatrix has sent Weasley and, let's face it, disfigured Potter to the dungeon while she "speaks" with Granger. This will not end well.

It's not the first time he's seen someone tortured, or even the first time he's seen a classmate tortured, but something about _this_ torture is different.

Bellatrix is frantic, she's not enjoying it as she usually does, there's real purpose here. It's more disturbing than usual. He wants nothing more than to leave the room, but he can't risk the resulting questions. And then it happens.

As soon as she makes eye contact with him he feels it, the intrusion. Of course she's a legilimens. Why wouldn't she be, she brilliant at everything else, of course she can invade his fragile brain while she's being tortured. But what is she looking for?

He's going to vomit. His brain has been shifted through numerous times, but never with this urgency. The Dark Lord takes his time, enjoying the discomfort and reveling in the snippets of secrets that he finds. Bellatrix is especially brutal, but bores so easily, she doesn't search long, keeping the discomfort to an unintentional minimum.

This invasion however is halting in a most unexpected way. It's hurried and frantic, flinging aside memories and trying to break through walls and doors so carefully erected even the Dark Lord and Bellatrix don't notice their presence. What could she possibly be looking for; there were no pleasant memories of them interacting. He feels more confused than ever.

Then as suddenly as the intrusion began, she's changing tactics; she is pushing memories to him. They're frenetic and desperate. It's just flashes, fractured flashes of astronomy books, tea and biscuits and…a field of yellow flowers?

Just like that he can't breathe. How could she possibly know about this dream? The only one he ever told was his mother, how could she possibly know what lay in the depths of his psyche?

Suddenly, the connection is broken by a pop of apparition. Potter and Weasley have managed to escape the dungeon. Draco is so discombobulated by this point he doesn't even try to fight for the upper hand as Potter wrestles him for his wand. If they can finagle their way out of the dungeon, they're most likely about to high-tail it right out of Malfoy Manor, and really what good is Draco's wand to him then? Punishment will come swiftly.

He's pretty sure he hasn't taken a proper breathe yet as he watches the scene unfold; a knife pressed to Granger's neck, the crash of the chandelier, Bellatrix's screech and an outraged throw of the dagger as an impertinent house elf pops them all away. But he didn't miss the broken hearted look in Granger's impossibly large brown eyes just before they disappeared to parts unknown, silently beseeching him for something.

After enduring his punishment for the drawing room debacle, Draco drags himself to his bedroom and wards the door as best he can manage in his bedraggled state. Sleep will be an elusive mistress tonight.

In the wee hours of the morning after extreme exhaustion pulls him under, he's immersed in a nightmarish world of chaotic confusion. The same nightmares that have plagued him are there, but in the midst of all the horror is that confounded field of flowers and butterflies, but this time, there's a marked difference.

She's there, Granger. She's a child, but it is most assuredly her. She has the same chocolate eyes and the same unruly hair and in the dream he can feel the magic radiate off of her as the flowers shift colors and butterflies surround him. He's mesmerized, and then the dream Granger says something that is more terrifying than any of his nightmares, "How could you forget our secret?"

He wakes up in a cold sweat, aching deep in his bones from the previous night's torture, but more haunted by the vision of the innocent girl Hermione Granger was. Was it always her in the dream? Does she know him outside of this paradigm the _illustrious_ Dark Lord has thrust upon them? Does he know her?

* * *

Everything reaches a culmination rather quickly after that disastrous day. The Dark Lord is vanquished… _finally._ But as the dust settles and trials are set, questions remain for Draco. Why did he let his life spiral so far out of control? Did he ever have control over his life, thoughts, and actions? He may never get the answers, but as he sits in the cold courtroom and listens to the Wizengamot deliver his verdict, he vows to himself that he will get control and he _will_ get the answers that have always eluded him. Especially answers about one beautiful, brilliant, muggle-born witch that looks at him with forlorn chocolate eyes; eyes that spark a memory long forgotten.

The cracks are there, but he'll break through. It's his life now.


End file.
